Announcement

Collapse
No announcement yet.

The LDS poetry thread

Collapse
X
 
  • Filter
  • Time
  • Show
Clear All
new posts

  • #31
    An LDS haiku (by anonymous):

    Just between us two

    Admit you know it aint true

    No one knows you here
    When a true genius appears, you can know him by this sign: that all the dunces are in a confederacy against him.

    --Jonathan Swift

    Comment


    • #32
      Originally posted by SeattleUte View Post
      An LDS haiku (by anonymous):

      Just between us two

      Admit you know it aint true

      No one knows you here
      Hey, nice job SU ....errrr..... anonymous.
      "There is no creature more arrogant than a self-righteous libertarian on the web, am I right? Those folks are just intolerable."
      "It's no secret that the great American pastime is no longer baseball. Now it's sanctimony." -- Guy Periwinkle, The Nix.
      "Juilliardk N I ibuprofen Hyu I U unhurt u" - creekster

      Comment


      • #33
        Originally posted by SeattleUte View Post
        An LDS haiku (by anonymous):

        Just between us two

        Admit you know it aint true

        No one knows you here
        Well, at least it's poetry and tries to say something, rather than yet another effort at one-upping the wacky irreverence that seems to be so popular here (and which is soooo boring, guys).
        “There is a great deal of difference in believing something still, and believing it again.”
        ― W.H. Auden


        "God made the angels to show His splendour - as He made animals for innocence and plants for their simplicity. But men and women He made to serve Him wittily, in the tangle of their minds."
        -- Robert Bolt, A Man for All Seasons


        "It is only with the heart that one can see rightly; what is essential is invisible to the eye."
        --Antoine de Saint-Exupery

        Comment


        • #34
          ee cummings would be proud:

          prid e is great (stumbling block). seatt
          leUte is a friend to all of us. mikeWAters got

          mad at-

          (DDD). Godfatheravatars. LOST. confu
          s
          ion.

          d
          . .o
          . .w
          . .nf
          . .a . l
          . . .l

          cuf

          jefflebowski, creeksterpelagius are) admin.
          Fitter. Happier. More Productive.

          sigpic

          Comment


          • #35
            Originally posted by LA Ute View Post
            Well, at least it's poetry and tries to say something, rather than yet another effort at one-upping the wacky irreverence that seems to be so popular here (and which is soooo boring, guys).
            What is this? Grumpy Monday?
            "There is no creature more arrogant than a self-righteous libertarian on the web, am I right? Those folks are just intolerable."
            "It's no secret that the great American pastime is no longer baseball. Now it's sanctimony." -- Guy Periwinkle, The Nix.
            "Juilliardk N I ibuprofen Hyu I U unhurt u" - creekster

            Comment


            • #36
              Originally posted by TripletDaddy View Post
              ee cummings would be proud:

              prid e is great (stumbling block). seatt
              leUte is a friend to all of us. mikeWAters got

              mad at-

              (DDD). Godfatheravatars. LOST. confu
              s
              ion.

              d
              . .o
              . .w
              . .nf
              . .a . l
              . . .l

              cuf

              jefflebowski, creeksterpelagius are) admin.
              You aren't getting enough credit for this. So I'll give it (grudingly). Brilliant! A masterpiece! (I think cummings was the Jackson Pollack of poetry. I wonder if I'm the only one who ever said that.)
              When a true genius appears, you can know him by this sign: that all the dunces are in a confederacy against him.

              --Jonathan Swift

              Comment


              • #37
                Originally posted by Jeff Lebowski View Post
                What is this? Grumpy Monday?
                Yeah, now that you mention it, probably. It's a cold, blustery rainy day today and people all around me are misbehaving or otherwise disappointing me. So my patience with the tendency here to make light of everything was probably not as durable as it should be.

                I will now go sing a few verses of "There's Sunshine in My Soul."
                “There is a great deal of difference in believing something still, and believing it again.”
                ― W.H. Auden


                "God made the angels to show His splendour - as He made animals for innocence and plants for their simplicity. But men and women He made to serve Him wittily, in the tangle of their minds."
                -- Robert Bolt, A Man for All Seasons


                "It is only with the heart that one can see rightly; what is essential is invisible to the eye."
                --Antoine de Saint-Exupery

                Comment


                • #38
                  Originally posted by LA Ute View Post
                  Well, at least it's poetry and tries to say something, rather than yet another effort at one-upping the wacky irreverence that seems to be so popular here (and which is soooo boring, guys).
                  Tell me about it. Nothing is off limits to some of the clowns on this board.

                  Comment


                  • #39
                    Originally posted by LA Ute View Post
                    It's a cold, blustery rainy day today
                    You mean "cold" - it hits the 50's around here, and my wife and daughter are pulling on the snow parkas.
                    If we disagree on something, it's because you're wrong.

                    "Somebody needs to kill my trial attorney." — Last words of George Harris, executed in Missouri on Sept. 13, 2000.

                    "Nothing is too good to be true, nothing is too good to last, nothing is too wonderful to happen." - Florence Scoville Shinn

                    Comment


                    • #40
                      bump

                      Comment


                      • #41
                        An opening hymn - grooving
                        An opening prayer - moving
                        A youth talk - humiliating
                        A hired speaker from another ward - stimulating
                        An intermediate hymn - arousing
                        An unbuttoned blouse
                        Bodies become one



                        - A Mother's Lounge
                        Everything in life is an approximation.

                        http://twitter.com/CougarStats

                        Comment


                        • #42
                          A new book of Eliza Snow's poetry from BYU Press.

                          It's over 1300 pages long.
                          "More crazy people to Provo go than to any other town in the state."
                          -- Iron County Record. 23 August, 1912. (http://chroniclingamerica.loc.gov/lc...23/ed-1/seq-4/)

                          Comment


                          • #43
                            My great-grandmother had a book of poetry published. Here is a sample of her work:

                            TO MY GRANDMOTHER MARIE GARFF GUDMUNDSON
                            WRITTEN BY FANNY GUDMUNDSON BRUNT

                            Today we sang the old songs you sang so long ago,
                            Today I read your history, proud to let my friends all know
                            That in my veins runs noble blood, so fine so pure and true
                            Inherited from pioneers, such fearless ones as you.

                            All is well, I hear you singing by your campfire on the plains,
                            As the darkness of the prairie vibrates the sweet refrains;
                            I see your fretful baby nestle closer to your breast,
                            As those strains of gentle music, lull the little one to rest.

                            I see the baby start with fear get closer, hold you tight,
                            As the cry of a hungry wolf pack breaks the stillness of the night,
                            Perhaps your heart would start to pound and wake him from his sleep
                            A thousand dangers threatened, as your vigil you would keep.

                            I see your husband lowered in a hole beside the trail
                            Watched by weeping children, and you so weak and frail,
                            The spot obliterated, and a few miles farther west,
                            In a little prairie grave your tiny girl is laid to rest.

                            I see you pushing on your heavy laden cart,
                            Laughing talking with your boys, to hide a breaking heart;
                            Your hands and face, that in Denmark had been so soft and fair,
                            Now calloused, blistered, bleeding, and tanned by sun and desert air.

                            How the memory of your homeland must have caused your blood to burn,
                            Comparing this with life back home, if you would but return;
                            But you kept your face turned westward, praying for a helping hand
                            To guide you and your hungry boys into the Promised Land.

                            And then your reach that summit of that last steep rocky hill,
                            And you look down in the valley, barren, desolate, and still,
                            As you viewed that land of promise you had come so far to gain,
                            Ah, Grandma, did your heart ache, did you whimper and complain?

                            No, bravely down the mountain side with blistered feet you go,
                            Cheered by smoke from chimneys in some mud roofed huts below,
                            That curling smoke, and those little huts, and the fragrance in the air,
                            Bespoke of warmth and friendship, that pilgrims long to share.

                            To the mountain tops of Zion, you had wandered from afar,
                            Security and freedom had been your guiding star,
                            But when you go to bed that night, weary sore and weak,
                            Your bed is made among strangers, whose tongue you cannot speak.

                            A frail little Danish mother, with hand unused to work,
                            Must feed four husky hungry boys, you must not could not shirk,
                            Your money gone and nothing left to feed the little breed,
                            Your dear dead baby’s precious clothes were traded off for food.

                            Volumes could be written on the hardships that you bore,
                            Sometimes it seemed the heavens were sealed, and your prayers were heard no more.
                            The faith that had sustained you through those long, long weary miles,
                            Was often weakened, almost lost through unexpected trials.

                            You passed by ninety milestones, never reached a place of fame,
                            But you left a great posterity, who honors your dear name.
                            No earthly goods you left behind, to cause discord or strife,
                            No bells tolled, nor flags flew half mast, when you passed out of life.

                            The world moved on without a pause, and when your bit of clay,
                            Was tucked back into mother earth, and the mourners went their way,
                            Me thinks I hear the angel ushers, there at Heavens Gate,
                            Say, “Welcome, and well done Marie, take your place among the great!”
                            http://colesherd.wetpaint.com/page/Gen-Garff-Gudmundsen
                            Everything in life is an approximation.

                            http://twitter.com/CougarStats

                            Comment


                            • #44
                              Originally posted by Solon View Post
                              A new book of Eliza Snow's poetry from BYU Press.

                              It's over 1300 pages long.
                              That's an awful lot of Eliza R. Snow.

                              For those interested, LDS Radio has a podcast on-line of an interview with Jill Mulvay Derr, one of the authors of that book. Description:
                              Jill Mulvay Derr is director of the Church History Research and Development Division in the Church History Department. Jill recently completed a study of Eliza R. Snow and the record she kept of the Relief Society meetings in Nauvoo. At the age of 38 years old, Eliza R. Snow was called as the secretary of the female Relief Society of Nauvoo in 1842. She recorded the proceedings of 19 of the 33 recorded meetings. She created, preserved, and shared this book of records to create meaning and ensure memories of the Relief Society origins.

                              If you have a few minutes and are so inclined, give a listen. I was really surprised (pleasantly) at Derr's level of candor and openness, given her position.
                              “There is a great deal of difference in believing something still, and believing it again.”
                              ― W.H. Auden


                              "God made the angels to show His splendour - as He made animals for innocence and plants for their simplicity. But men and women He made to serve Him wittily, in the tangle of their minds."
                              -- Robert Bolt, A Man for All Seasons


                              "It is only with the heart that one can see rightly; what is essential is invisible to the eye."
                              --Antoine de Saint-Exupery

                              Comment


                              • #45
                                Originally posted by Indy Coug View Post
                                An opening hymn - grooving
                                An opening prayer - moving
                                A youth talk - humiliating
                                A hired speaker from another ward - stimulating
                                An intermediate hymn - arousing
                                An unbuttoned blouse
                                Bodies become one



                                - A Mother's Lounge
                                What have you done with Indy?

                                Comment

                                Working...
                                X